


Live Well and Love (Cats)

by lynndyre



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bookverse Elves, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 04:02:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11866272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynndyre/pseuds/lynndyre
Summary: A night during the weeks Frodo and company stayed in Rivendell, following the Council of Elrond.Erestor and Lindir, and cats, and time.





	Live Well and Love (Cats)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aglarien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aglarien/gifts).



Erestor woke to the stillness of small hours.

He had given over to sleep with Lindir beside him, but now the only heat beneath the heavy blankets was his own, and he stretched slowly across the cool sheet. The balcony was open, the wind teasing the curtain. On the balcony Lindir was singing, low, a counterpoint to the tune from further below, where singers still greeted the stars in one of the garden courtyards.

Erestor rolled over and pushed back the fall of his hair. Under the stars, like the woodelf he was, Lindir was singing to the cat. The last note of the line, a lift of the melody, barely met the air before it was shattered by Basil's meow; a deep throated, penetrating noise. Another verse, once begun, was broken by further yowls until Erestor can hear Lindir's laughter, and watch his silhouette bend to pet the cat's head. Then his voice, speaking instead of singing, the words indistinct but the tone fond.

The tension of Erestor's dreams began to bleed away, finally, watching them, but the worries remained. Was it a fool's hope to try to destroy the Enemy's ring? Could they have a chance? Erestor yearned to trust Elrond's judgement, but he knew his lord and friend had no more certainty than did he himself, and the morrow would bring only further planning against a future they could only imagine.

And Erestor had lost his home before. The memory was close to the surface, having been mined to vivid effect in his nightmares. 

Spring had come that year in a rush of conflicting winds, winter slow to release its grip on Hollin, warmth coming in fits and threatening starts, in thaws that allowed Sauron's orcs to boil up over the mountains like ants, in spite of the dwarves who dwelt beneath. In Eregion the elves were depleted, in stores, in bodies, and in spirit, and so it was as the world greened that Eregion fell, and the new flowers of the season were trampled into the wakening ground.

And so they fled.

Erestor had lived close enough to the forges, some days, to hear the roar of the fires. When the smiths were preparing some great work, the forges stayed lit long into the night, until his dreams had breathed with that great bellows-breath and shone in gold and red. But after a time the rise and fall grew constant, and faded into the night music, and out of conscious thought.

The waterfalls in the valley were more constant still, yet he wondered if they would ever be so familiar. The place was protected, defensible, and utterly beautiful, but it was _wild_ , and Erestor belonged to the craftsmen's city, where all was wrought and made and formed- And ruined. 

Erestor knew Lindir then by sight only as one of the green elves who had joined Elrond's troops in the crossing of Eriador. His light brown hair was one of many heads that mingled with the darker Noldor in patrols and hunting forays. Lord Elrond, it was said, was of many kindreds, not purely Noldor and Man, and his choices in leadership seemed to bear this out. Erestor found it fascinating to watch, after Eregion's stagnant guildmaster infighting, and rewarding to be part of, even if the most he might do at first was act as quartermaster. 

Among those who had fled Eregion, some still turned first to Lord Celeborn, but he placed himself also under the command of Elrond Half-Elven, who stood as envoy of the High King. And many in Eregion had not been born there, and remembered other lords, or remembered Gil-Galad himself.

His eyes first met Lindir's over a cat. 

She was white and red and black, all in patches, and hanging from Lindir's grip by the scruff of her neck, refusing with great prejudice to release the strip of meat in her jaws- the strip that had clearly been part of Lindir's ration for the meal. Lindir tugged at his dinner, visibly torn between laughter and frustration, and the creature in his grip growled, voice rising in protest.

Erestor had intervened, sharing his own ration if the woodelf would release the cat- who took her prize triumphantly, shook it, and quickly darted away, milk-heavy teats swaying beneath her. They gave chase together, until they saw her bushy tail disappearing beneath the canvas of one of the storage pavillions. Slowly, gently, they had advanced further, and found her little nest beneath and between the relics of Eregion. Three kittens surrounded her, pushing and mewing as she devoured her prize, until she turned in a circle about them, herding them close, and lay down to let them feed. Once settled, babies close and belly full, the little cat blinked up at them in utter innocence, her eyes a dark and liquid yellow, and Erestor was lost.

Lindir had been lost as well. He always said he'd been drawn to Erestor the first time he saw him with an armful of kittens, and though it had taken them months to come together, that first meeting was bright in both their memories.

Their feline thief belonged to no-one, and Erestor never found who had brought her from the city; whether her owner had sought her safety and failed to ensure his own, or whether she had industriously chosen her own way out, hiding in the wagons while heavy with young. He came to suspect the latter, though she had clearly known and loved the touch of elven hands, and came swiftly to trust and friendship with him. 

Erestor named her Pepper, for her colour, and for the dried meat she had stolen. She hunted well that summer, as her babies grew, guarding the stores of provisions against the marauding attentions of the valley's native population of mice, voles, and other vermin. She curled in the sun beside Erestor when he worked, transcribing on their limited supplies of paper, in small neat tengwar, all the information that he and other aides had collected from witnessed accounts on the progression of the siege. In those first days, Pepper's soft pawing touch and bright purr were his shield against the pull of despair.

Her kittens grew well, two little stripes of yellow and one deep shadowy black, and she trained them to hunt- and to charm, Lindir said, watching Lord Glorfindel wear the little black female as a proud living scarf. Her line had thrived, and by Erestor's genealogical reckoning, was part of almost every cat in the valley. And Erestor had loved them. Continued to love them still. Basil had been barely a kitten when Mithrandir had brought his troop of dwarves to the valley, small enough to hide in the sleeve of Erestor's robes. Now he was old, growing ancient, and Erestor had seen the glow of Elrond's hands in passing over his furred companion, lending strength. It was a test that Lindir sang, in the night, to see what notes Basil would yowl for- which notes he could hear. Sometimes he was silent.

But for tonight, the song was done. Cold air slipped beneath the blankets as Lindir lifted them. His hair brushed chill over Erestor's arm, and then Erestor's neck and cheek as Lindir bent to nuzzle him. Erestor allowed himself a pleased sound and drew Lindir closer, breathing in the night air from his skin, bare toes tracing the curve of his calf, down to his ankle.

At the foot of the bed, a soft scrabbling marked Basil's progress onto the low bench, and thence to the mattress itself, and he picked his delicate way up the bed, seeking spaces between their bodies where none had existed, and insinuating himself at last against the curve of Erestor's torso, where he proceeded to emit a low vibration, modulated by skritching elven fingers.

"Welcome back, nightbird. You should sleep. Save some of your songs for morning."

"I will need them. Saelin and I are playing for the weavers until this tapestry is complete."

Erestor had not been past that hall since the current loom was set up, and as Lindir nuzzled into his ear he made a note to go tomorrow and see. His fingers carded through Lindir's hair, and he scratched idly at his scalp, much as he had the cat's. Lindir's sleepy pleased groan was nothing like a purr, and brought a smile to Erestor's lips in the darkness. Perhaps he would bring food. The kitchens were taking great pleasure in tempting their hobbit guests with all manner of edible intrigues. In some ways hobbits and cats had the right of it. Take joy in food, in touch, and in companionship. It was better to face the darkness fed, and happy. And not alone.

The singing further down the gardens was quiet now, and Lindir's breath was silent, warm gusts felt rather than heard. In the stillness, Erestor could hear the waterfalls, familiar now for yeni upon yeni. Basil rubbed his whiskered face over Erestor's cheek, breath redolent of stolen fish, and settled to kneading fondly at Erestor's arm. Together, they slept.


End file.
